Hope Springs Eternal
by LemmingDancer
Summary: The death of a family friend forces Jack and Phryne to investigate an emotionally charged case while navigating their evolving relationship with each other and everyone around them. Light on mystery, heavy on romance, liberally dosed with angst and tempered by witty banter: my usual recipe!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes:** This is a direct follow-up to _Perchance to Dream_. You can enjoy this fic without reading the other, but you're likely to wonder what you've missed. I keep updates on my progress and longer author's notes over on my profile.

As always, reviews are appreciated. Never underestimate the power of a connection to another human being to inspire a writer, or a person, to keep trying. Thanks to FiBeeN and Ethelfreda, for being the human connections that got this posted. Enjoy!

**Recap of **_**Perchance to Dream**_**:** A smuggler turned murderer abducted Jack and thoroughly roughed him up. Phryne, using Jack's trail of breadcrumbs and her own considerable intellect, rescued him. She very nearly killed the man who took him, but Jack convinced her to stay her hand. The ordeal forced the two to admit the depths of their affection for each other, though neither really knows what to do about it...

**Chapter 1**

"He's missing again!"

Phryne groaned as a panicked exclamation from the hallway woke her. Her eyelids felt heavy as brocade, but she pried them open to check the time. The wristwatch on the arm draped casually over her stomach read 10:45. Not even 11 o'clock in the morning! Phryne scowled and burrowed deeper into the nest of pillows and blankets that made an impromptu bed in front of the parlor fireplace. The thick pile of the rug was deliciously comfortable, but Phryne decided it didn't compensate for the room's proximity to the front door.

"Is Miss Fisher in there? It's urgent, Dottie," the young man went on in a familiar voice.

"Miss Fisher got home late after an evening out, and the door is closed Hugh," Dottie said, defending her mistress' privacy in a fierce whisper, even against her beau.

"But we can't find the inspector!" Hugh said, his volume increasing.

Oh dear, Phryne thought as she pushed herself into a seated position, shedding pillows, blankets, and clinging arms. Feeling around in the semi-dark room, she located a shirt and pulled it on. It wasn't hers, but as it covered far more than the evening dress now lying in a puddle under the piano bench, she decided it would do and then some.

"We went by his house and he wasn't there. What if he's been abducted, or…" Hugh choked on the rest of his argument.

"It's alright, Dot," Phryne called, before the constable could work himself further into a dither. She glanced around the parlor and at the pile of blankets and pillows beside her. There was nothing that would overly challenge the young constable's sensibilities, as long as he didn't look too closely.

Her companion cracked the door and stuck her head in, surveying Phryne with wide eyes. Phryne sighed. She was wearing all her underthings, but she wrapped the overlarge shirt around herself more carefully and buttoned a few of the buttons. She raised her eyebrows at Dot for approval.

"Please, Dottie," Hugh said from the other side of the door. With a nod for Phryne's attempts at modesty, Dot bustled into the room and went to pull back the curtains. Phryne cringed in the sudden brightness as mid-morning light streamed into the room. Hugh rushed into the parlor, tripped over one of Phryne's shoes and turned a brilliant shade of red that extended from his neck to his hairline.

"I'm sorry Miss, but we can't find the inspector, and we need him at a crime scene." He had begun with his gaze firmly fixed on the floor, but upon discovering that it was littered with discarded clothing, he jerked his eyes up to focus on the mantle. Phryne scrubbed her face with her hands and forced a mind clouded with the after effects of too much champagne to focus on the situation at hand.

"I thought Jack wasn't due back at work until Monday?" Phryne asked. It was still Saturday, wasn't it? Phryne had misplaced the odd day, here and there, but she didn't think she could have lost an entire weekend.

"We have a request I know he'd want to accommodate. If he's missing again…" Hugh trailed off, looking a bit faint.

"I'm sure he's around," Phryne said.

"Then you'll look for him?" Hugh begged, meeting her eyes for the first time. The guilt in his guileless expression penetrated Phryne's fog. He still blamed himself for the waiting so long to look for Jack, when he'd been abducted.

"Of course," Phryne reassured him, even as a smile spread across her face. She began to sort through the pillows around her carefully, lifting the corners of each and peaking underneath. Hugh shot a mystified look at Dot, who was watching her mistress with an increasingly worried expression.

"Ah ha!" Phryne said, tossing aside a turquoise pillow.

"Uhngh," Jack protested incoherently, scrunching up his face against the sudden light. Draping one arm over his eyes, he snaked the other around Phryne's waist. Hugh and Dot's faces were mirror images of shock and mortification.

"Found him," Phryne said to Hugh, eyes innocently wide. She was incalculably amused by the situation, but the young constable's blush had darkened to something closer to burgundy, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly as he threw a glance over his shoulder. Serves him right, Phryne thought, for this entirely too early visit. And really, how could he be so surprised, so appalled? Jack had spent the vast majority of his convalescence with Phryne, and was even still more or less dressed in his undershirt and trousers.

"Jack?" Phryne squeezed Jack's shoulder and gave it a little shake. He didn't move.

"Detective Inspector Robinson, you are wanted at a crime scene," Phryne told him, with a possessive smile for the man she loved.

"Not until Monday," he said, his voice gritty from lack of sleep.

"Did you remember to inform the crim of your schedule? Because it seems someone's gone and gotten murdered anyway…" Phryne shot a glance at Hugh for confirmation that the crime in question was in fact a murder.

"Indeed," a harsh voice answered from behind Hugh. Phryne's eyes darted to the man she hadn't seen in the shadowed hallway. He marched into the parlor, and her stomach dropped as she recognized his sharp cheekbones, his strong chin.

Agonizingly slowly, Jack dropped his arm away from his face, looking up with barely disguised horror.

"Your presence would be appreciated, as soon as it's convenient. Unless you've better things to do," Henry Robinson said to his son coldly.

"Of course not," Jack managed almost steadily, as if he wasn't staring up at his father from the floor while tangled up with a woman. Phryne's heart pinched her a bit as his arm tightened protectively, the last of her amusement draining away as Mr. Robinson shot her a scalding look.

"I'll be in the car," Jack's father said as he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.

Jack seemed to have turned to stone at her side, not even breathing.

"That went well," Phryne finally said, breaking the silence with false cheer. Jack shot her a wild eyed-look.

"Spectacularly," he replied, voice cracking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: **Thank you for the very warm, welcoming reviews! It's good to be back. I'm not sure about the other writers, but my not-so-secret secret is that I'm just as addicted to writing as I was to reading. FiBeeN and Ethelfreda were my enablers, as usual, beta reading and offering valuable feedback on this chapter. Thank you both, for, well, everything.

**Recap:** Jack's father caught our two detectives in an embarrassing situation, and demanded Jack's help at a crime scene...

**Chapter 2**

Though his head was punishing him for a night of excess and he was feeling decidedly out of sorts, Jack couldn't help smiling when he poked his head into the kitchen fifteen minutes later. Phryne, still wearing his shirt under a silver robe, as if the haphazard outfit was the finest morning attire, was sitting at the table with Dot and Hugh, sipping tea and eating a light breakfast. Jack took a moment to be grateful he'd stowed extra clothes in the spare bedroom. Phryne was more than capable of stripping out of his shirt then and there, if she thought he needed it, and Collins might not survive the additional shock. Besides, negotiating the rest of the day was going to be difficult enough without having to do it in yesterday's rumpled clothes.

"Yes, Inspector?" Phryne asked, as she spotted him. A tiny wrinkle between her brows said she was concerned about how Jack would react to their most recent little scandal, despite her sunny smile.

"Buttons." Jack had more or less healed in the weeks that had passed since his abduction. But his missing fingernails had grown back slowly and several of his fingertips were still lightly bandaged to protect the tender new skin. As a result, buttons had become a greater arch enemy than his abductor had ever been.

Phryne stood and drew him into the room. Jack rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be towed along. As she began to button up his shirt, Miss Williams and Mr. Butler continued to pack lunches unfazed, but Collins winced and studied the bottom of teacup. Jack foresaw a conversation in their future, one of those slightly inhibited, male versions of the heart-to-heart where they both talked around what they wanted to say. The young constable was recovering more slowly from Jack's injuries than Jack himself.

It had bothered Jack at first; relying so heavily on Phryne for such simple, personal tasks. She, however, had treated it with the same lightness she treated everything, as if it was no more unusual than him opening a door for her (back when door knobs hadn't been quite so challenging). So Jack had come to accept that doing up buttons was just another thing Phryne (currently) did better than him. After all, they didn't have much chance as partners, if he resented her for everything in that category.

"Any details on the case, Collins?" Jack asked as Phryne finished with his shirt and began to do up the buttons on his vest.

"Yes sir, the victim is one Richard Watson, found dead in front of his father's home," Collins said around a mouthful of toast.

Jack suppressed a groan. The Watsons. That explained his father's sudden interest in police work. Their families had a long, tangled history. The Watson boys had been like brothers to the Robinson children, once.

Phryne, now knotting his favorite silver and blue tie, raised an eyebrow at him, but Jack shook his head. It would take hours to explain and he didn't want to keep his father waiting.

"I'll help you with the lunches," Dot declared, narrowing her eyes at Hugh. The constable stood up so fast his chair hit the stove behind him. He hoisted a basket and followed his sweetheart out, trailing Mr. Butler.

"I love you, Jack Robinson." She smoothed his tie absentmindedly, the wrinkle between her brows deepening into a furrow.

"And I love you, Phryne Fisher." He looked at her askance and waited her out.

"I didn't see your father standing there, Jack. I'm not trying to get you in trouble…"

"Since when?" Jack asked, with more than a hint of real exasperation. Sometimes her flagrant disregard for propriety bordered on self-sabotage.

"Well, I'm not trying to get you into _too much_ trouble. In fact, I might even try for _less_ trouble than usual. A bit less, anyway."

Jack sighed. Phryne might try not to cause trouble, but she wouldn't succeed.

"I'm fully aware, Miss Fisher, that trouble finds you," he allowed. Her usual mischievous twinkle leapt back into her eyes.

"This time Inspector, I'm fairly certain that trouble showed up specifically asking for you. And it seems to be cutting our weekend short."

"Hmph," Jack agreed. "I'll telephone when I have a better idea what we're up against."

Phryne snorted. "Quite a bit, I'm guessing. Leave a message with Dot, if I'm not available?"

"…of course." Of course she wouldn't be sitting around waiting around for his call.

Phryne stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth, startling a fragile half-smile out of Jack that lasted right up until he pulled himself into the car and caught a blast of silent, glowering disapproval from his father.

It looked like the drive to the crime scene was going to be uncomfortable.

* * *

"Jack! It's good to see you!" DI Will Taylor greeted Jack as he climbed out of the car a blessedly short time later.

Jack tried not to wince as both of Will's meaty hands engulfed one of Jack's in an eager, fist pumping handshake. His fellow inspector, an old war mate, was a large man with even larger emotions, who didn't do anything by halves. His bulk had lately begun to migrate to his waistline, but as Will's generous midsection was exceeded only by his generous nature, no one even thought to give him trouble about it.

"Long night?" Will drawled. Jack resisted the urge to run his hand over his unshaven chin. He scowled at his friend until he noticed his father, joining them from the other side of the car, wore an identical expression. Both Robinsons paused to take in the scene.

The Watson home was an East Melbourne oddity, a Gothic bluestone terrace with a steeply gabled slate roof. Cream colored brick framed the windows in pointed arches, matching the wood of the pillars that supported the second story veranda. It spanned the front of the house and sheltered a collection of beautifully arranged planters, a riot of ferns and flowers. The whole style put Jack in mind of elaborately piped cake frosting, especially given the defunct, tiered fountain that sat in the center of the path, a few paces in front of the porch steps.

Richard Watson's body was cradled in the bottom bowl of the fountain, facing the house. His backside sat in the scummy water as he leaned at a drunken angle against the central column. Both of his legs hung over one side while one arm hung over another.

"The family driver found him at 6:00 this morning," Will said, as he and Jack approached the body.

Jack and Phryne had stumbled back to her house at around that time, still tipsy from the charity fundraiser. Attending had been a courtesy to one of Phryne's clients, more accurately one of _their_ clients (sick leave did not exempt one from being pulled into Phryne's wake), but they'd gone mostly for the waltzing. Jack shook his aching head in a vain attempt to clear the residual fuzziness. Richard's evening had ended much more tragically, he reminded himself.

"Cause of death?" Jack asked.

"Apparently a blow to the head," Will indicated a spongy, circular depression behind Richard's right ear.

Although it was probably bad form to judge a man on the state of his corpse, Richard didn't seem to have aged well. His skin was sallow, the cloth across his gut straining. He was dressed for dinner in a finely tailored jacket, but it was worn at the elbows and smudged with yellow dust and peppered with little, oddly shaped bits of leaves. A cigarette butt lay on the pavers beneath his dangling hand.

"He met some mates for drinks after dinner, reckon he interrupted a robbery when he came home," Will theorized. "The parlor window's broken and there's footprints in the mud by the front steps. His father, Mr. Edward Watson, reported silver missing, and jewelry. The man's a toff, he…"

Jack cut Will off with a wave. He knew all about the Watson family empire. He glanced at the front steps, where Richard's father, the acting patriarch, was sitting with his head bowed. Jack's father stood behind him, directing household staff.

"You taking over this case?" Will asked Jack.

"Best if I don't take the lead. Rich and I grew up together," Jack said. Will looked at Jack, then the dead body, then back at Jack.

"Your boundless grief is a dead giveaway," he said, smiling at his own pun.

Jack frowned at Will. "We fell out of touch some time ago." In truth, they'd begun to grow distant even before the war, but certainly after it.

"Your father asked for you, specifically," Will said. He stood, and tilted his head in the direction of the porch, inviting Jack to interview Mr. Watson. Jack ran his fingers over his eyebrows, pausing to massage his temples with bandaged fingertips. The pavers were throwing the sun back into his eyes, intensifying his pounding headache. But he straightened and followed Will anyway.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jack told Mr. Watson. "I know you've talked with DI Taylor already, but we'll want to look into every possibility. Can you think of anyone who wanted to harm Rich?"

Mr. Watson was a thin, pinched man with a pointed nose. Where Rich had expanded in the years since Jack had last seen him, his father had shrunk, collapsing in on himself. He didn't immediately answer Jack's question, but Jack's father did.

"You know he was a barrister, Jack. I'm sure there are dozens of possible suspects." He looked to his friend for confirmation.

"If disgruntled clients are in short supply, there is always a surplus of sore losers, and vice versa," Mr. Watson said. "I can give you a list, but no one stands out. Rich had so many difficult cases last year, and when he wanted a lighter load…"

"Of course you supported his decision," Jack's father said. "Rich was a good son." Although he put no particular extra weight on the words _good son_, the comparison was there nonetheless.

"Can I borrow your telephone, Mr. Watson?" Jack asked. He couldn't imagine making excuses to his father to return to Phryne, so he'd better make them to her instead.

* * *

When Phryne picked up on the second ring, Jack was surprised to find her at home.

"It looks like I'll be tied up with this case for awhile," he said without preamble.

"Damn! And before we've had a chance to do any real misbehaving," Phryne said. "I don't suppose anyone would believe that, however."

"I wouldn't. Would you?"

Phryne paused. "Only because I know how much broken ribs hurt from personal experience."

"Indeed." Jack cursed Richard Watson for ruining tonight, a night they'd been waiting for throughout his long recovery. This murder was taking away their last chance to be together, really together, before Jack had to wake up from this long, beautifully strange dream and return to his real life.

"The dancing will go well into the morning, so perhaps…later?"

"Later, I'm going to need to sleep. I'm sorry Phryne, but right now I'm not feeling sharp enough to investigate a purse snatching, let alone the murder of a family friend."

"The band will only be in town tonight…" Phryne trailed off.

"I'm not telling you not to go."

"Very wise of you, as we both know how that generally works out."

"Yes, yes." Apparently he wasn't even supposed to tell her what he wasn't telling her to do. "Go or don't go. Do what you want, and enjoy yourself."

"Jack, love, you know I will." He could practically hear her smile, affectionate and more than a little naughty.

"I hope you do." Jack had also known she wouldn't cancel her plans on his account, so it would be silly of him to be hurt by it. He was a little stung anyway.

The line crackled in the long silence.

"Sleep well," she said, almost apologetically.

"You know I will," Jack lied. Her startled laugh echoed in his ears long after the line had gone dead. He fixed it in his memory, holding it tight and wishing he could hold Phryne instead. Tired as he was, he doubted he'd sleep well in his empty, barren house.


	3. Chapter 3

**Recap: **Jack's father walked in on an embarrassing scene in Phryne's parlor. He made Jack investigate the death of family friend and barrister, Rich, whose body was found in the mansion's fountain. The murder interrupted Jack and Phryne's planned evening of debauchery.

** Chapter 3**

Phryne cut the engine of the Espano-Suiza a block from her destination and coasted the rest of the way. The late summer night, or early morning really, was a riot of insect noise, but every house along this residential street was dark and still, except for one. Phryne eased to a stop in front of it, wondering why Jack had left on his porch light.

Fingers tapping the steering wheel in a nervous staccato, keeping time to a hopping jazz beat only she could hear, Phryne considered Jack's bungalow and why she was sitting in the dark in front of it. The band had been as excellent as promised, the crowd dancing with abandon. But no matter how flamboyantly she'd sashayed, how wildly she'd spun and twisted, Phryne could not shake off her uneasiness.

_You're being ridiculous_, Phryne told herself, her beaded dress clicking as she shook her head. Jack had outright told her to go, to have fun. And as she didn't need his permission either way, she shouldn't have considered herself in the wrong in any case. But it still hadn't felt right.

Phryne fidgeted in her seat, glanced at the front door, and then back at her hands. Why was she trying to justify this? She wanted to be here, so she was. But Phryne couldn't show up at Jack's house in the middle of the night like a stray cat. She studied her gloves, a sudden inspiration making her smile. It was a flimsy excuse at best, but she'd made flimsier.

Decision made, Phryne was in motion, rooting around beneath the seat for the kit she kept there. Vaulting over the car door to avoid waking the neighborhood by slamming it, she marched up to the front door.

In case Jack was actually asleep, Phryne knocked very lightly. She waited, forcing herself to calm down. She felt more exposed, marooned here in the island of light on Jack's porch, than when she preformed the fan dance at the gentleman's club.

Phryne was just wondering if she would ever think to map out a retreat before she charged in, when the door opened. Jack blinked at Phryne, his face slack with confusion. He looked as if he would be less surprised to find the king himself standing on the doorstep.

"Wha…?" Jack asked, in his just-woken, gravel and sandpaper voice. He was barefoot and unshaven, but still dressed in shirtsleeves, his usually immaculate hair a mess of disarrayed waves. The sight of him made Phryne feel suspiciously light-headed.

"I've come to change your bandages." She brandished her medical kit for emphasis.

"At one in the morning?"

"It was my first available time." She stuck her chin out at him, ready for his sarcasm with a handful of quick responses of her own. Jack just stared at her blankly.

"…is it too late?" Phryne asked, less certainly.

"Never," he replied immediately. He opened the door a little wider, inviting her to step into the darkness with him. She didn't hesitate.

Jack shut the door, closing out the light, and Phryne was blind in the unfamiliar room. Jack's hand closed around hers and he tugged her towards the dim glow coming from the back of the house.

"Whiskey?" Jack asked, squeezing Phryne's hand and releasing it as they reached his study.

"Please."

Phryne looked around, relaxing as she inhaled the scent of paper, leather, and Jack that filled the room. She admired the volumes lining the walls in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, running her fingers across the spines of Jack's Shakespeare collection affectionately. A lamp on the battered desk lit everything with a quiet, orange light.

Jack snatched an open book out of the leather armchair and offered the seat to Phryne with a tilt of his head, before going to the decanter.

Phryne ignored his invitation to take what was obviously _his chair_, and moved a stack of books off the ottoman to sit there instead. Jack frowned, but settled in the chair across from her, handing her a tumbler of amber liquid.

The stillness that filled the cozy room was oddly comfortable, to a woman who generally surrounded herself with a whirlwind of activity. Jack watched her over the rim of his glass. Phryne didn't try to guess what he read in her face, but she returned his scrutiny, not liking the bags under his eyes or the tightness around them. She wished she'd let him sleep, but the damage was done. She might as well do some good now.

Setting aside her untouched drink, Phryne held her hands out for Jack's. He pushed himself out of the sucking cushion of the chair, scooting closer to give her his left hand. Phryne did her best to ignore the warmth radiating from his knee, where it was slightly between her legs. Using a pair of scissors from her kit, Phryne began to remove his bandages.

"How did it go at the scene?" she asked.

"It looks like the victim interrupted a robbery."

"Looks like," Phryne repeated, catching the slight emphasis.

Jack shrugged, not looking up from where her petite fingers danced around his longer ones, freeing them from slightly grimy cotton.

"Maybe I've just been doing this too long."

"Definitely. But?"

"The robbery feels too neat, too obvious."

"Hmm." If it seemed too tidy to Jack, it must be neat indeed.

"And yet the only evidence that was out place was the trace on his jacket. It was like he'd rolled around on the ground before he got bashed in the back of the head."

"I take it you checked the garden for wallows?"

Jack snorted. "Rich was a barrister, but his enemies have strong alibis. A few are dead."

"Which is a very strong alibi. Not insurmountable, but nearly so. Was Rich a colleague, then?" Phryne asked, though she rather suspected he wasn't.

Jack scowled blackly, rubbing his neck with the hand she'd just released. He put down his empty glass and put his other hand in hers.

"No. Our fathers have known each other since they were lads. But Edward Watson's always been a luckier man, blessed with more conventional sons."

Thinking of Jack as unconventional required such a titanic shift of her mental framework, Phryne's hands briefly paused in their work on his.

"He's blissfully married, no doubt," she said, still rearranging her spectrum of conventionality.

"Yes, but Mr. Watson was reading in his study all night, with a clear view of the stairs. No one in the family stirred, including Rich's adoring wife." Jack's nose wrinkled as he said the last words.

Phryne wisely decided not to pursue that line of questioning.

"Seems fairly straightforward."

"It always does."

"And it never is." The two detectives exchanged a smile.

Phryne reached over to the desk, tilting the lamp so it shone more brightly in their direction.

"Give them here," she commanded, taking both of Jack's hands and examining his fingertips. It still made Phryne a little sick to remember his ruined hands, but they were healing nicely. The skin had knit together and tiny, wavering half-moons of nail had begun to grow across the new tissue.

"They look excellent," Phryne said.

"They look deformed." Jack curled his hands into fists and pulled them away, ignoring Phryne's frown. He knuckled the sides of his neck with a groan.

"Perhaps if you didn't sleep in an armchair," Phryne said.

"If a certain lady detective didn't keep me up to all hours of the night, I might not fall asleep immediately after sitting down." He rolled his shoulders with a wince.

"Let's see if I can make it up to you," Phryne said. Without breaking eye contact, she stood and slowly hitched her dress up around her thighs. Supporting herself on his shoulder, Phryne slid around Jack and settled on her knees, so that he was sitting between her legs. As she began to knead his neck, Phryne sent a silent thanks heavenward that Jack had invested in such a wonderfully wide armchair.

"How was the club?" Jack asked after a while. His head drifted to the left as Phryne pressed her elbow into a particularly stubborn knot in his right shoulder.

"Fun," she said simply.

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"You didn't. The band has extended their stay in our fine city." What good were heaps of money, if you didn't use them to make your loved ones happy? And the band had assured Phryne of their discretion.

Jack, however, had known her too long.

"And why would they do that?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. Phryne kissed the frowning corner of his mouth and tugged on his shirt.

"I would be more effective, without this in the way," she said, lips moving against his cheek.

Jack unfolded his clenched hands, fumbling with his shirt. Phryne bit her lip and wrapped her arms around him to brush his fingers away. Peeking over Jack's shoulder, she began to unbutton his shirt. She could feel his breathing quicken, his chest expanding within her arms. She rolled the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it aside. Jack took off his undershirt, revealing a back that was broad, lightly freckled, and lean, with muscles tucked close to bones. He shivered as Phryne trailed her fingers across a smattering of shrapnel scars that began in the middle of his back and disappeared into his trousers.

"Souvenirs from the war," he said, though Phryne hardly needed an explanation. She wrapped one arm around his waist and the other across his chest, cinching him tight against her and resting her chin on his shoulder. Phryne wished she could go back, to protect him from everyone and everything that had ever hurt him. But he wouldn't have been her Jack anymore if she could; the man she loved was as much a product of his pains as she was her pleasures.

"Mmm," Jack said. Phryne smiled, leaning back to kiss the nape of his neck. She loved the happy-Jack sound. With a final squeeze, Phryne let Jack go and began to work on the tightness in his back again.

"Why did you leave your porch light on?" Phyrne asked, as she rubbed circles on either side of his spine with her thumbs, starting at the nape of his neck and working her way down.

Jack didn't respond. His chin dipped as he rounded into her touch.

"Jack, love? The porch light?"

"I left it on…just in case."

"In case what?" Phryne's hands reached the top of Jack's trousers. She traced around his waistline with her fingertips.

"…in case I'm needed..."

"I assure you, you're needed." Phryne had waited for Jack to mend, had kept the banter light and the flirting innocent. But the beautiful, battered expanse his back made her _need_. Phryne kissed the point between Jack's shoulder blades, tasting his skin with the tip of her tongue. Still massaging his lower back, she kissed her way across one shoulder and then the other.

"Phryne…" His voice had a new edge. Phryne drew back immediately, but Jack turned, hooked one arm around her waist, and dragged her around to straddle his lap. Phryne's stomach dropped as she met Jack's burning eyes. Slowly, he pressed his lips to her shoulder and then the side of her neck, nibbling her earlobe and finally finding her mouth, his tongue twining with hers.

When they broke apart a little to pant, leaning forehead to forehead, Phryne saw that Jack had tangled his fingers in the beaded fringe of her dress. Desire had muddled her wits, but the realization that Jack hadn't yet touched her with his hands, that he was hiding them, chilled her like a bucket of cold water. She drew a steadying breath.

"No buttons," Phryne observed, tugging at her hem. She planned this outfit before their evening was disrupted, and had worn it tonight anyway. Just in case.

Jack took her hint and pulled the dress up over her head, discarding it. Phryne caught his hands before he could find somewhere new to conceal them. The tightness around his eyes was back.

"Do they hurt?" she asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"They feel strange, but they don't hurt." He glanced at their joined hands, his lip curling in disgust. "They just look so…"

"Lovely," Phryne finished. She nestled her cheek into one of Jack's palms, pressing the other to the fabric above her heart. His eyes were mirror bright as he watched her.

"I dream about your hands, Jack." He brushed his thumb across her cheek, combed their combined fingers through her hair.

"They're…sensitive," he said. She let her hands rest on his chest as his drifted down her silk-clad sides and found their way beneath her camisole. "Everything feels new."

"Yes, it does," she whispered, almost to herself, her stomach doing another somersault. Everything she did with this man was a revelation. Phryne leaned her cheek against his shoulder and shut her eyes, concentrating on his touch as he mapped her spine, willing him to touch more.

When their lips met again, it was with an urgency she had never felt before, but Phryne forced herself to break the kiss, leaning back. She felt Jack's growled objection resonate in his chest.

"Don't you need to sleep, Inspector?" she asked when she found her voice. Between his ragged breathing and his luminous eyes, Jack looked more like he was starving, or drowning, than tired. But Phryne had to offer him one last chance to withdraw before he gave her everything; she loved him too much not to.

"I need you," he said, pulling her close again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **This is not the smut you're looking for. It's in _Hope Springs Eternal Interlude_, an M rated short fic that fits between chapters 3 and 4. An even gooier, more explicit version is chapter 4 of this fic on Archive of Our Own (same fic name, same account name). You didn't miss any plot if you skipped the smut.

Thank you to everyone who has left a review on this or my other stories. I treasure every single one. Enjoy!

**Recap:** Richard Watson, Robinson family friend and barrister, went out for drinks after dinner and surprised a robber on returning home. He was found dead by blunt force trauma to the back of the head, in a fountain. The immediate family all have alibis. Phryne stopped by Jack's house and he updated her on the case. Then there was smut. And now…

**Chapter 4**

Knock knock knock.

Jack groaned as rapping on the front door woke him. Maybe the neighbor's cat was just stuck in the tree, again, and it wasn't some new calamity. Pretending he hadn't heard anything, Jack wrapped himself more tightly around Phryne. She nestled her body into his, pressing her back to his chest.

Knock knock knock.

Jack realized he was kidding himself. It was always some new calamity. He opened one gritty eye and glanced at the window. The light still had the cool, pre-dawn touch; it couldn't be past six.

Knock knock knock.

With a sigh and a final kiss for the ivory skin of Phryne's nape, Jack carefully disentangled himself from the woman he loved. He tucked a strand of silky black hair behind her ear and then sat up. Phryne smiled in her sleep, an echo of Jack's smile as he admired her, here, lying in his bed. She'd come to his unloved, unexceptional house in the middle of the night, for Jack. He pressed one hand to his tight chest, forcing himself to breathe. It'd be just his luck, to choke to death on happiness.

Knock knock knock. Knock knock knock.

Jack scowled as he pulled on a pair of pyjamas and a robe. The city better be rioting, he decided as he stalked up to the front door and yanked it open.

"Good morning, Jack," Jack's mother said, cheerfully.

"Mother."

"Indeed."

"It's…" Jack looked at his bare wrist. "Early," he concluded.

"Quite," his mother agreed.

"Now isn't the best time for a visit." Jack involuntarily pictured Phryne, naked in his bed. He felt his ears turn red.

"I disagree. There could not be a better time. I need to talk to Phryne."

"Phryne," Jack repeated.

His mother stepped to the side and gestured down the walk, to where Phryne's big, red, glaringly-expensive car sat in front of his house.

"Yes Jack, Phryne. Now, are you going to invite me in? Or would you rather the neighborhood woke up to this scene?"

"I…come in please, Mother."

"Thank you dear."

Jack shut the door. His mother shifted the picnic basket in her hands to one ample hip and removed her hat, looking around the barren front room with a disapproving frown.

"I would not have thought it was possible, but your house has gotten even more unlivable."

"It's just a place to sleep," Jack said, as his brain began to catch up with him. "How did you know to look for Phryne here?"

"I telephoned her and she was not available. So I made a…deduction? Is that how you say it?"

"Sounds more like a lucky guess." Jack said under his breath, as he hung her hat and coat.

"Do not get smart, young man. And it really was not that much of a leap."

A snicker from the bedroom made them both look up. Phryne stuck her tousled head around the corner.

"Hullo Ida!" she said, every bit as cheery as his mother. "Jack-love, you wouldn't happen to have a second robe would you?"

"Not here." It was at her house, along with roughly half his wardrobe.

"Never mind then! I'll manage."

Jack winced as an image of Phryne in nothing but his tie jumped into his mind. He excused himself and rejoined Phryne, who had already scavenged a pair of his pyjamas. He stripped off his robe and offered it to her, before pulling on trousers and a shirt. Someday he would get her to explain why she was so fascinated with his clothes, Jack thought as Phryne buttoned up his shirt. He fidgeted with his cuffs.

"Unbend that stiff neck of yours, Jack," Phryne said, sweeping him into an unexpected embrace as she finished with his buttons. "Your mother is a thoroughly modern woman."

"Apparently so." Jack was still uncomfortable, but his mother's reaction was infinitely preferable to his father's.

His mother had busied herself in the kitchen while they dressed.

"You are not planning on burning toast and calling it a meal, are you?" she asked Jack without turning.

"Of course not," he replied with as much dignity as he could muster, even though that had been exactly his plan.

"Good. I brought enough breakfast for all of us, even if one of us is you." His mother pushed a teacup into his hands and gave Phryne another. Phryne plopped down at the table, and the two were deep in conversation immediately, his presence apparently forgotten. Jack shrugged and sat, more than content to lean his head on his hand and watch the most important women in his life chat as if they'd known each other for decades.

"You are a master in the kitchen," Phryne complimented his mother as she bustled around, frying eggs and bacon, flipping toast.

His mother shrugged. "I am spoiled for it now; we have had help with the day-to-day chores for a while. But we were not so blessed when we first arrived."

"How did you come to Melbourne?" Phryne asked.

"My father was a politician, a well-respected man in Johannesburg." Her voice grew dreamy, her accent a little thicker, as she thought of her youth. "Then they found the gold at Witwatersrand, and South Africa became a wilder place. But it brought me my dashing suitor, Henry, come from London to seek his fortune."

A shadow passed over her face. "My family was never…at ease with him. But they wanted to leave, and Henry wanted to immigrate to Australia. We arrived together in 1890."

Jack blinked. He knew his parents' history, as one knew all stories learned in childhood, by rote. He'd never questioned the source of the tension between his father and his grandfather, but now he began wonder.

"You arrived just before the crash," Phryne said with a grimace.

"Edward Watson was an old friend of Henry's, who immigrated some years before. He helped us through it, and our families have been close ever since."

Jack's mother put plates of steaming food in front of them, and frowned. "Rich's late mother was dear to me. It would break her heart to know how his life ended. I want to do what I can, what she would have done, to protect her family."

Jack took a bite of his eggs.

"That is why I would like to hire you to look into Rich's death."

Jack choked on his eggs.

"I will be glad to help," Phryne said. "But I can't even consider accepting payment."

Jack's mother moved around the table and sat down across from Phryne. "And I will not allow you to proceed without agreeing to take one."

"Is this a good idea?" Jack asked. He could picture the look on his father's face when Phryne came bursting into the crime scene, all swirling silk and irrepressible impropriety.

Phryne ignored his protest. "Perhaps we can work out some other exchange. Beyond the obvious." The two women looked at him.

"No. Definitely not," Jack said, putting down his fork. "I am not…I am not barter-able, not a horse to be traded."

His mother shrugged dismissively. "There would be little point in offering a horse that is already in her stable, anyway."

Phryne clapped both hands over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Jack crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at both of them.

"I can manage this case perfectly well by myself," Jack said, entirely on principle. His mother's intervention would save him from having to exclude Phryne from the investigation, or worse, justify her presence to his father, but he couldn't just give in to their meddling. Especially not after that unflattering comparison. "All the evidence points to a chance encounter with a thief."

"Except for what was stolen," his mother said. "The silver is gone; but Ruby's wedding ring was also taken."

"Ruby is the widow? That is strange." Phryne stared into her teacup.

The silence stretched. Jack finally broke it. "How is that strange? The ring must have been valuable."

"Women do not just leave wedding rings lying around in the kitchen," his mother said, rolling her eyes. "It would be good for you to have a partner in this case. There is more to it, I am sure."

"What about…?"

"Your father does not need to know who hired Phryne. If he finds out, refer him to me."

"_When_ he finds out…" Jack would never deflect him onto his mother. His father wasn't a physically violent man, but he could rage with the best of them. With an involuntary shudder, Jack thought back to when he told his parents he had joined the constabulary.

Phryne's hand found his knee and squeezed it beneath the table. Jack looked at her, sitting at his kitchen table in his pyjamas, face framed by a halo of sleep-mussed hair. He would risk his father's wrath a thousand times over for her.

"Jack?" Phryne asked. Despite all their teasing, they were waiting for him to decide.

"We have an appointment at the morgue at 9," he relented.

Phryne gave him an almost predatory grin, and then began to press his mother for more details about the Watsons. After two nearly sleepless nights, Jack had trouble keeping up with their careening conversation, but Phryne's boundless energy was catching. He finished his breakfast smiling, looking forward to another case with the Honorable, Delectable Phryne Fisher.

* * *

_Gold at Witwatersrand – The first Boer war, between the British Empire and the Afrikaans people, was fought in 1880-1881. The Brits mostly lost, deciding it wasn't worth the trouble. Then a large, easily mined vein of gold was found (by an Australian, oddly enough) just outside of Johannesburg, South Africa, in 1886. This discovery renewed British interest in the country, especially as the influx of immigrants, many of them British, eventually outnumbered the Afrikaans community. The second Boer war didn't begin until 1899, but tensions would have been high for much of the interwar period. The Brits mostly won the second time. If I've done my math right, Ida would have been in her late teens in 1890, so she grew up in a frontier town turned gold rush boom town._

_The Melbourne economic crash of 1891 – Melbourne was another gold rush boom town. Starting in the 1850s, it experienced an enormous period of growth, eventually becoming second only to London in terms of population in the British Empire (although as one astute reviewer pointed out, there wasn't much competition). Then, as it has a way of doing, reality came crashing down. Unemployment was apparently around 20% for nearly a decade after the crash._

_Source: Mostly Wikipedia, also BBC – History's site. Please forgive me if I've bungled anything._


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Sorry for the delay, got a bit blocked there. I can only write so much, and if I stop writing grant proposals, I starve. Thanks for the lovely reviews, and the patience. Enjoy!

**Recap: **Jack's father coerced Jack into investigating Rich Watson's death, and Jack's mother hired Phryne to help. Although preliminary investigation suggested it was a robbery gone wrong, the list of stolen items and the trace on his body both suggest more is going on than meets the eye.

**Chapter 5**

Phryne screeched to a halt in front of the morgue at ten past nine. Jack was waiting for her, leaning on the wall with his hands buried in his trouser pockets, his face hidden by his hat as he stared at the ground. He was standing only a few paces away from a knot of constables and detectives from another station, but his posture and their turned backs suggested the gulf between them might as well have been the Pacific.

"You're late," Jack said without looking up, as Phryne jumped out of her car.

"Sorry! I had to track down Bert and Cec. I want them to look into what Rich and his drinking mates got up to on his last night among the living."

Jack tilted his head in acknowledgement, holding open the door for her. Phryne brushed by him, pressing close so she could peek under the brim of his hat. The skin was stretched tight across his cheekbones, and he twitched his lips at her in a strained smile that didn't touch his eyes. Two hours ago he'd been so happy he was practically purring, what on earth had happened?

"Thank you for giving my mother a ride home," Jack said in an undertone as they walked down the corridor.

"It was my pleasure to further her quest to protect your reputation. She timed her visit well; I doubt your neighbors saw either of us arrive, but they certainly saw us leave, together." Phryne wouldn't have minded leaving Jack's house un-chaperoned, tattered brassiere slung over one shoulder, but she wasn't sure yet how Jack would have reacted. Jack probably didn't even know how he would have reacted, she amended her thoughts.

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again without a word as two well-dressed men exited the morgue, walking with the exaggerated swagger of those who had too much authority and too little responsibility. The taller, thinner man had his hands clasped behind his back as he listened with a bored expression to his rotund companion's non-stop monologue.

"Commissioner," Jack nodded to the taller man, "Deputy Commissioner." Jack stepped a bit to the side as he greeted them. Phryne's eyebrows climbed. She didn't move out of the center of hallway. "This is…"

"Miss Fisher, _lady detective_, I'm sure," said the Deputy Commissioner, rocking back and forth on his heels as if the bottom of his feet were as round as the rest of him. He looked Phryne up and down, lips pursed. Jack's shoulders went rigid, hitching up just a bit.

"Charmed," Phryne drawled.

The man dismissed her and turned to Jack. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you, Robinson."

"I have returned to duty earlier than expected," Jack said, without elaborating.

The deputy commissioner narrowed his eyes at Jack. "I can't say I approve of you starting an investigation, just before you move on."

Jack's lips thinned into a frown, his face setting into even longer lines.

"Indeed, we were expecting your resignation some weeks ago," the fat man went on. The commissioner continued to watch the exchange impassively.

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of resuming my position."

"Of course, of course," the Deputy Commissioner flapped his hands in a placating gesture, "But no one thought you would." He inclined his head towards Phryne slightly.

Phryne's hackles rose as she finally realized the source of the tension between Jack and his colleagues. They thought he intended to abandon his post for the life of a kept man, as if Jack only worked for the wages. Though Phryne didn't know exactly why Jack had chosen the path he was on, it was clear that he had _chosen_ it, that he hadn't just taken a job to make ends meet. That they had judged Jack so unfairly grated Phryne's sense of justice, but she kept quiet. They would be even crueler if they thought Jack was hiding behind her skirts.

"I suppose it's best not to be hasty," the florid little man continued eventually. He leered at Phryne. "She is a fickle mistress...fate, that is."

Phryne's head snapped back as if she'd been slapped.

"Does your wife know you have expertise in the affairs of mistresses?" she asked, her earlier resolution to behave completely forgotten. The deputy commissioner began to sputter incoherently at her, but the taller man cut him off with a snort. Jack was looking everywhere but at his superiors.

"Easy now, Miss Fisher," the commissioner said, speaking for the first time. His tone set Phryne's teeth on edge. "Well, Robinson?"

"I have no plans to resign," Jack said. He briefly met the commissioner's eyes from beneath furrowed brows.

"The constabulary is judged on the character of its men, inspector. That yours has been thus far unimpeachable is your saving grace."

"That and his conviction rate," Phryne couldn't help saying. Jack's hand jumped up to press against her back, steering her around the two men with a last, almost polite nod in their direction.

"Why didn't you defend yourself?" Phryne demanded as the door shut behind them, closing them into the dark, antiseptic perfumed morgue.

"My reputation is well beyond salvaging; it isn't worth the effort. Besides, I'm much more use to you if I remain a policeman." He had let go of her and was moving deeper into the room.

Jack had only parroted her words back to her resignedly, but something about that line of argument bothered Phryne. She hurried to catch up to him, but he'd already put the dead body between them.

"You don't have to remain a policeman, you know," Phryne said, although she had a hard time imagining him as anything else. "You could be a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker, and it wouldn't make a bit of difference to me. Frankly, you would put either of those two idiots to shame, if you got it into your head to go after their positions."

Jack's head jerked up. "I like my job," he ground out, glaring at her. Phryne sucked in a surprised breath at this flash of real anger, anger caused by what she meant as a compliment.

"Ahem," Doctor Johnson cleared his throat. He emerged from the shadowy recesses by the filing cabinets, where he'd apparently been the whole time. Phryne rolled her eyes and somehow managed not to snap at him.

The crotchety coroner handed Jack a file. "Blunt force trauma," he said, and Phryne briefly wondered whether that was his recommendation for resolving their argument or Rich Watson's cause of death.

"Just what it looked like then," Jack said.

"Maybe," Doctor Johnson replied, looking down at the body.

Phryne focused on the dead man for the first time. Richard Watson was lying face down on the coroner's table. Either Doctor Johnson had shaved the back of his head, or the dead man had a terrible barber, because a fist sized patch of the man's stringy blonde hair was missing around the wound. The wound itself was a bizarre shape, a bloom of tiny triangles in concentric circles, like a rose pressed flat.

"Ever seen anything like it?" Doctor Johnson asked Jack.

"Never." Both men looked across the body at Phryne, waiting.

"Well, neither have I!" Phryne said.

"Huh," the coroner said. "She doesn't have an answer ready."

"It was bound to happen eventually," Jack commented. "Time of death?"

"I estimate between 10 and 12 the night before they found him."

"That would seem to back up Mr. Watson's assertion that the family is innocent," Phryne said. If Rich's father had told Jack the truth, they'd all retired to their rooms by that time.

"What's your next move?" Doctor Johnson asked.

"I need to have a look at this crime scene," Phryne said, before Jack could speak.

"We should talk to the staff, as well," Jack said.

"Did they have access to the front yard that evening?" Phryne asked.

"No, the nanny sleeps in the room adjoining the children's bedroom and the driver was off visiting his mother."

"But if you want to know the measure of a man, ask his servants. Excellent idea, Jack."

"I do have one, occasionally," Jack said blandly. He had apparently decided to push aside his earlier surge of temper, and Phryne let it go, for the time being. It wasn't unusual for him to be processing much more than he let on, but one essential fact had changed: he didn't have to do it alone anymore. Now, if only Phryne could figure out how to convince Jack of that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: **I absolutely hate to make characters' lives difficult. And yet, life is difficult. Basically: sorry, but stories need conflict. It gives us something to resolve :-) You know, like fighting so you can have make-up...conversations.

Thanks for the reviews! They make that hidden, creative part of my mind unfurl.

**Recap: **Richard Watson, barrister and Jack's one-time friend, wound up dead in the family's fountain, with a very strange shaped wound on the back of his head, and yellow dust and bits of leaves all over his jacket. Although it looked like he came home and interrupted a robbery, his wife's missing wedding ring seems odd. Jack's mother hired Phryne to investigate; no one thinks it'll go over well with his father. Let's find out…

**Chapter 6**

Jack's heart, which already seemed to have taken up residence in the pit of his stomach, sank even further as he opened the Watson's' front gate for Phryne and saw his father waiting on the porch.

"Lovely home," Phryne commented, as they walked up the path shoulder to shoulder. Her eyes lingered on the second story veranda, taking in the expensive display of ferns and flowers there.

"You said he was found in the fountain?" Phryne gestured to the monolithic feature. Jack didn't bother to reply. His attention was focused on his father, marching down the stairs to block their progress.

"What is she doing?" he asked Jack, without looking at Phryne.

"It's a pleasure to see you, Mr. Robinson." To her credit, she didn't sound _too _sarcastic. "I've been retained to investigate this case."

"By who?" Jack's father said, still talking to Jack.

Jack fidgeted, looking at the creamy pavers underfoot as he struggled to come up with a believable answer that didn't give away his mother.

"My client wishes to remain anonymous," Phryne said, still answering for Jack.

"Who else even knows about this case? Surely you didn't hire her to usurp your own work?" Jack's father asked.

"No, I didn't." That was true at least. "Miss Fisher has been an invaluable partner on many cases." Also true, and it made Phryne preen a little bit. His father glared at her, and Phryne met his eyes, one hand propped on her hip as she stared up at him.

"How is Mrs. Watson this morning?" Jack asked, in a blatant attempt to distract them.

"Widowed. She's still near hysterical and heavily medicated." Jack's father didn't look away from his standoff with Phryne as he answered. "Poor Alfred isn't in much better shape."

Alfred was Rich's younger brother, now the only remaining Watson child. Jack had always liked Fred, he remembered with a twinge. He had none of his brother's self-entitled arrogance, even though they were both barristers.

Jack looked back and forth between his father and Phryne, and then shrugged. He stepped around the immobile pair and headed for the front door. They could work it out, or not, Jack was going to find out who had killed Fred's brother.

By the time a flustered young woman opened the door, his father was standing at his left side and Phryne was at his right. Jack tried to ignore the scowl the two of them shot each other across him.

As they were shown into the dark paneled entry hall, Phryne brushed her knuckles across the back of his hand, a tiny gesture of affection that eased Jack. She loved him. It would have to be enough for Jack's father, enough to ease the sting of the bile his colleagues had thrown at him.

"Miss Anna Carpenter?" he asked the frazzled girl. She gulped and nodded. Her wide eyes darted from Jack to his father, and then to Phryne.

"I'm afraid I need to ask you some questions about Mr. Watson's death," Jack said, as gently as he could. He took his hat off and put a smile on, though it probably didn't fool anyone.

"Where might we find Mr. Kenneth Johnson?" Phryne asked, with a considerably more convincing smile. The girl pointed mutely down the hallway, towards the back courtyard.

"I'll take the young man," Phryne said.

Before Phryne headed deeper into the house, she stopped to pat Anna's arm. Leaning in conspiratorially, she said "Don't worry. If the father is anything like the son, they generally don't bite." She shot Jack a mischievous look, knowing full well what image had leapt into his mind, and swept off down the hallway.

Jack was still scrambling to reassemble his thoughts when a screech from upstairs interrupted them.

"Anna! The boys are fighting again," a male voice called from somewhere above them.

"Perhaps we can talk while you see to your duties?" Jack suggested to the nervous young woman. She sighed in relief and rushed up the stairs without a backwards glance. Jack and his father followed her into a glowing room decorated in pale yellows and lace. An infant slept in a crib in one corner, blissfully unaware of the racket the two toddlers made as Anna pulled them apart. Another child, a slightly older girl in a pink dress, sat in the window seat with her uncle, Alfred Watson. Fred handed her the book they'd been reading, pressing his hand to the top of her head in affection as he stood.

"Four beautiful grandchildren," Jack's father commented. He looked at Jack. There were no grandchildren in the Robinson family.

"Four more children that will grow up without a father," Fred said, joining them in the doorway.

"It's good to see you, Fred," Jack said, holding out his hand. Fred had always been the slighter, shorter brother, though he shared Rich's blonde hair and blue eyes. He was more drawn than Jack remembered; the hand that clasped Jack's a bony claw.

"And you as well, Jack," his said, voice tight. "You look…exhausted, actually. I suppose a murder investigation will do that to you."

Jack had in fact been up late discussing the investigation, but as that constituted seduction for Phryne, the rest of the night could hardly be considered case work. Jack forced himself not to react as his father gave him a disgusted look, jumping to an (unfortunately correct) conclusion about why Jack was so tired.

Fred hadn't noticed. "God knows, the trials certainly take enough out of a man," he said.

"Is your case load heavy?" Jack asked, brows coming together. Fred had hardly practiced law at all since the war.

Fred nodded. "Rich hadn't taken a case in a year. He said he wanted to spend more time with his family, but we all know it was the bottle he missed."

Jack's father shook his head in denial. "You shouldn't talk about your brother that way."

Fred's face clouded, mouth twisting. "I'm sorry, Mr. Robinson. I know you thought highly of Rich, but he was a different man in the privacy of his home."

Though this seemed to shock his father, Jack was not surprised. Rich's drinking had turned the corner to binging sometime in the last decade. It was one of the reasons Jack avoided the whole family, though not the primary one. Jack glanced at Rich's beautiful children, playing in the sunlight in that beautiful room. If his heart sank any lower, he'd be tripping over it.

"Someone had to take up the slack at the firm," Fred continued, scrubbing his face with his hands. "We're on the Sanderson case."

Jack couldn't help but react to that. His former father-in-law's betrayal continued to ripple through his life, both in his superiors' distrust and in the darkest corners of his mind.

Fred heard Jack's sharp intake of breath. He clapped his shoulder sympathetically.

"Any insights into what happened to Rich?" Jack asked.

Fred's whole face convulsed with grief. "No…he was my brother, Jack, whatever had happened between us." Jack couldn't press him further. The three men watched the children and their caretaker silently for a moment.

"Thank you for looking after them," Anna said to Fred, two blotches of color staining her cheeks. She'd finally succeeded in corralling the boys.

Despite his obvious distress, Fred found a smile for the young woman. "I know you do too much around here already, Anna, but if you would send my blue suit to the laundry, I'd greatly appreciate it. I've gone and muddied the trouser cuffs again, and I want to wear it when I meet with the other partners about Rich's death." He rubbed his forehead, and excused himself.

Jack looked back at Anna. She had folded her hands in front of herself demurely.

"Thank you for speaking with us. Can you describe what happened that evening?" Jack asked.

"Well, the family had dinner," she began, voice just audible. "Mr. Watson went out after the fi-, after dinner."

"Did something happen at dinner? An argument?" Jack ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes.

She didn't respond, but the color staining her cheekbones intensified. So, there had been an argument at dinner. He scribbled that down in his notebook.

"It's Mrs. Watson… they fight, or fought, sometimes. She didn't like her husband's smoking, you see," Anna scrambled to explain. Jack doubted that was the whole story, but the girl obviously didn't want to gossip about her mistress.

"And what about the younger Mr. Watson, Alfred? Did he have a disagreement with Rich?" Jack's father asked.

"Fr-, Mr. Watson stayed in, he couldn't be the murderer." Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, and she looked up for the first time.

Jack asked Anna a few more perfunctory questions, paying more attention to her demeanor when she talked about Fred than to her answers. Perhaps his increased awareness of intuition was a side effect of Phryne, or maybe of being in love, but Jack had a gut feeling about Anna and Fred. Luckily, his father didn't have the same instincts. Jack wasn't going to say a word unless it related to the case, Fred and Anna were both unmarried anyway, but his father would not hesitate to tell the elder Mr. Watson.

When they left to rejoin Phryne, his father stumped along beside Jack in icy silence. Jack searched his mind for a way to convince him that, right or wrong to the world, Phryne was right for him. But the hypocrisy of this blind rejection angered Jack, made it hard to find the words. If his mother's family had treated his father so poorly, how could he do the same to Phryne?

"I know Phryne's not who you would have chosen for me…" Jack began, as they reached the back courtyard.

"I have always let you make your own choices," his father said, rounding on Jack. "First, you chose an average life toiling in obscurity, and now…" he made a visible attempt to take his temper in hand, "…now, you're throwing away even that. How long do you really think this will last? What commitment has she given you, in exchange for dragging your career through the mud?"

None, beyond a commitment to do this (whatever it was) together, and exclusively so. Jack hadn't asked for more than that, because he wasn't ready for her answer, no matter what it would have been.

"It'll last as long as it lasts," Jack said. "And I intend to enjoy every minute."

Phryne's sparkling laughter caught their attention. She was across the courtyard, leaning on the wall of the garage. The handsome young man standing entirely too close to her said something in a low tone, and Phryne chuckled again, putting one hand on his arm.

"Then I hope you also enjoy being made to look a fool," his father said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: **That was an uncomfortable place to pause, wasn't it? I even broke my "never let people think you can achieve daily updates" rule for it. If you're still with me, thanks. This early update is dedicated to all my loyal, review-every-chapter readers, and especially TequilaRed, for serving as a sounding board.

**Recap: **Richard Watson, barrister and Jack's one-time friend, was found dead in the family's fountain with a very strange shaped wound on the back of his head, and dust and bits of leaves all over his jacket. Although it looked like he came home and interrupted a robbery, his wife's missing wedding ring seems odd. Rich's little brother, Fred, seems to have a relationship with the nanny, and the family apparently had a fight at dinner.

**Chapter 7**

Phryne glanced back into the darkness of the house in time to see Jack and his father climb the stairs, and then turned to squint into the blazing bright courtyard. A young man sat on the other side of the empty expanse of pavers, fixing a broken dining room chair in the strip of shade beneath the garage eaves. Phryne tilted up her chin, gathering her charm around her like a cloak, and sauntered across the space.

"Mr. Kenneth Johnson, I presume?" she asked with a smile.

The young man looked up and dropped his hammer with clatter.

"Somethin' I can help with, Miss…?" he asked, rooting around for his hammer without looking away from her. Phryne stepped into the shade so she could see him better. He was roughly dressed, his shirt had purple smudges on the collar and grease on the unbuttoned cuffs, but the face beneath his mop of darkish hair was chiseled and handsome.

"I'm Phryne Fisher. I'm investigating…mind the saw!" Phryne grabbed the man's shirtsleeve and yanked, snatching away his hand just before he put it down on a saw blade.

"Are you alright?" she asked, noticing the dirt and dust streaked bandage already wrapped around his palm. "You should have that cleaned up."

"Ain't nothin'," Kenneth said, shrugging dismissively. "There somethin' I can do for you?"

"You're the Watson's driver?" Phryne asked.

"An' gardener, an' handyman, an' jus-about-everything-else-needs-doin' man," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow and leaving behind a grayish streak.

"I'm investigating Mr. Watson's death. What can you tell me about that evening?"

"Went to visit me mother. Coppers already checked me out." He clenched his jaw, dropping her gaze to go back to work on the chair.

"You misunderstand me, Mr. Johnson. A man as capable as yourself…" she allowed her eyes to linger on his broad shoulders, though it was the thought of Jack's shoulders beneath her hands that made her voice go husky, "…a man like you must know things, things that could help a woman like me."

Kenneth lowered his tools again, drinking in the sight of her with one eyebrow raised. "It's Kenny, Miss." His eyes grew distant as he thought.

"They had an argle-bargle at dinner," he volunteered finally. "Mr. Watson took it out on the furniture this time." He gestured at the broken chair. "But the missus wouldn't tell me what happened."

"Come now, you're a sharp young man." Phryne leaned on the garage wall, fiddling with the hem of her filmy over-shirt as she favored Kenny with another smile. He rubbed his mouth and swallowed hard.

"The youngest, Fred, he don' want to toe the line, that's my guess."

"What about Mrs. Watson?"

"She was too good for 'im. I know it ain't right, but I'm glad she's free of 'im." Kenny's hands clenched into fists.

"If he took his anger out on his wife and children when he spared the furniture, I'm glad she's free of him too." Phryne said. The young man blinked, and then turned a blindingly gorgeous smile on her. Standing in one graceful motion, he came to lean on the garage wall beside her. If the sparkle in his blue eyes hadn't put her in mind of another handsome man's eyes, Phryne might have been taken in by Kenny.

Kenny dropped his voice and leaned in. "Couple a weeks ago, he got blind drunk an' passed out on the veranda, an' I tied his shoe laces together. Next day, he got up an' did he ever fall flat on his fat face."

Phryne threw back her head and laughed at the image.

"Took the wind right out of his sails," Kenny finished proudly. Phryne chuckled again, even as she appreciated his quiet courage. Her eyes drifted down to the bloody bandage on his hand and she thought of Jack's fever, of him lying unconscious in her bed as his strength burned away.

Phryne reached out pressed a hand to Kenny's arm.

"Promise me you'll have a doctor see that," she said to him, squeezing his arm for emphasis. "You don't want to risk it getting infected."

Phryne looked up as Jack and his father walked into the sunlight of the courtyard, her whole body tensing as she read their faces. If Jack had been fretful at the morgue, he was now positively wrung out. The skin under his eyes seemed almost bruised and his shoulders were rigidly tight. The contrast between his unhappiness and his father's self-satisfied little smile made Phryne want to do something immature, like kick the older man in the shins. Hard.

Phryne thanked Kenny and excused herself, meeting the Robinson men in the middle of the courtyard.

"I think we need to talk to Alfred Watson," Phryne said.

"Alfred left, we tried to catch him." Jack's father said.

"Did you get anything from the maid?" Phryne asked, elbowing between Jack and his father to take Jack's arm. She tugged on it, starting them walking back through the courtyard and house.

"There was an altercation at dinner," Jack said, "Miss Carpenter implied Rich and his wife had an argument."

"Interesting. Kenny suggested the brothers had the fight."

"No matter what _Kenny _said, the family all have alibis," Jack's father said.

"Contract killing?" Phryne quipped, more to annoy the man than because it seemed like a reasonable explanation.

"If Rich was drinking, he could have made enemies out of perfect strangers in very short order," Jack said.

They had reached the front door, and another standoff. Jack's father turned the full force of his disapproving glare on his son, and Jack responded with what Phryne recognized as his I'm-prepared-to-arrest-people-to-get-what-I-want face.

"Do you need a ride to the station?" his father asked him.

"No, thank you. I'm with Phryne." Jack said. He put his hat on and tipped it politely to his father. Phryne blinked her suddenly burning eyes. Whatever had happened between them, Jack had made a clear declaration to his father.

"Your choice," his father said. Without acknowledging Phryne, he turned to go back upstairs.

They didn't speak as they walked down the path to the Espano. When Jack opened the driver's side door for her, Phryne leaned in and tipped his hat up a bit so she could see his face.

"Do you want to drive?" she asked. Phryne wanted to give Jack something in exchange for everything he'd given for her today, and he'd probably prefer the driver's seat to the public indecency charge they'd get if she really expressed her feelings.

"It's your car."

"I'm sure you'd drive it just as well. Maybe with slightly less style, but perhaps we've had enough excitement for one day?"

He took a deep breath, letting it out and hugging her in one motion.

"I didn't think too much excitement was possible for you," he said, her shoulder still tucked under his chin.

"It isn't. But I've certainly had enough of whatever that was for one day," she replied, holding him tightly.

He snorted. "I'm too exhausted to drive. Perhaps some other time?"

"Definitely." She gave him one more squeeze, and then let go to pull herself into the car.

They travelled towards the station in silence, Phryne trying to process the clues they'd gathered, but mostly raging at everyone who'd slighted Jack today, individually and by name. She assumed Jack was brooding likewise, until she glanced at him and saw he'd slid down in his seat and fallen asleep. Pulling over to the side of the road, Phryne squelched shut her leaky eyes for a moment, then turned the car around and set a course to his house. Jack never stirred, not even after she'd parked and turned off the engine.

"Home again, home again, jiggety-jig," Phryne said, squeezing his knee. Jack started awake.

"This is not the station," he said.

"A keen observer as always,"

"It's barely three, I can't just…"

"You aren't going to be much use to anyone, asleep at your desk,"

"I guess I'm not formally on duty until tomorrow…"Jack yawned, then got out of the car. Pausing at his gate, he looked at her.

"Would you like to come in?"

"I can't. I have to update your mother, and take care of some other odds and ends." As Phryne had driven painstakingly slowly through the city, reduced to almost the speed limit, she'd thought hard, and come up with something she could do for Jack. It was the only reason she hadn't already tucked him into her own, lusciously inviting bed.

Jack didn't know what she was planning though, and he couldn't hide his disappointment at her response.

"I'm far too selfish, Jack," she told him. "You really do need to sleep, and if I stay, I'm certain I'll think of something more vigorous to do."

Jack grinned, perking up enough to smolder at her a bit, then turned to go. Phryne watched his overcoat flare behind him as he walked, and knew she'd told the truth. Whether she was good for Jack or not, she was far too selfish to let him go without a fight now. Anyone who tried to make her would regret it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note:** Not up to my usual standards, but we need to keep this thing moving, eh? Thanks for reading and reviewing. SOMEONE (you know who you are) gave me a fiction fiction prompt, and got me quite distracted, but I'm back on track.

**Recap:** A nasty sod by the name of Richard Watson, a violent drunk and a lawyer, got bonked in the head with something weird shaped, and was found dead in the fountain. His family were all supposedly upstairs when it happened, but he fought with all of them. The nanny thinks his wife had it in for him, the driver thinks it was his brother, but no one believes it was a robbery, as it was originally made to look. Phryne has just dropped Jack off at home after a day of interviewing witnesses.

**Chapter 8**

Jack slowly swam out of the sweet embrace of sleep and woke disoriented. He looked blankly around the unfamiliar, dusty room and then remembered: he was in his bedroom, in his house. Strange.

His wrist watch read a quarter past five. Jack had taken off his jacket and collapsed face down on top of the covers less than two hours ago, but he was hungry enough that his growling stomach had woken him. Too bad, since all he had to eat was a heel of bread left over from breakfast. Deciding a slice of bread wasn't worth getting up, Jack buried his face in his pillow again. It still smelled like Phryne's hair.

Tap tap tap.

Someone was knocking very tentatively on his front door. Jack got up, ran his hands over his hair to slick it into place, and opened the door to chaos.

Miss Williams had knocked, and was standing on the doorstep looking apologetic, with his mother on one side and an enormous fern on the other. Behind them on the walk, Bert and Cec groaned under the weight of a couch, while Hugh balanced a rolled rug on one shoulder and very delicate vase on the other. The cab, the Espano, and what Jack very deliberately did not notice was a police vehicle, were parked in front of his house, full to bursting with chairs, side tables, rugs, paintings and at least half a dozen house plants.

Phryne's head peeked over the top of the fern's foliage.

"Hullo Jack!"

"Phryne. What are you doing?"

"We're helping you open up your house after your long absence. The place could do with a thorough scrubbing, and I know you haven't got any food in there."

"I can't eat furniture."

"Well. You could, and I wouldn't put it past you. But it would be a waste of good furniture," Phryne said.

"I brought food," his mother said.

"And quite a bit more," Jack said, crossing his arms. "I can't possibly afford or accept all this."

"Nonsense." That was his mother's crisply efficient voice. "You can afford a good deal more than you spend on yourself and you have developed an impressive backlog of Christmas and birthday presents."

"Everyone should have a home Jack," Phryne said, shifting the fern in her arms. "Or better yet, two!"

Two? Jack looked uncertainly at the invading horde of people, plants, and furniture in his front yard. She didn't seem to have another entire house tucked into it all, though she clearly had enough to fill one. His mother stepped forward to cup his cheek in her hand.

"Let me be your mother, Jack." Her tone was close to pleading. "Let me do something to ease your life, if I can."

Jack couldn't say no to that, not after his mother's unflinching support and her unwavering attempts to relieve the strain between Jack and his father. He stepped out of the doorway, and the operation swung into movement. As Collins passed, Jack caught the teetering vase, and was immediately pressed into unloading the cars. Once everything was inside, filling the front room with enough clutter to make movement treacherous, the ladies shooed him out and slammed his own door in his face. He was still standing there reeling when Miss Williams opened the door long enough to pass him a tin of biscuits, before shutting it again.

Bert, Cec and Hugh were already on the porch. Cec sat on an overturned milk crate with Bert standing behind him, across from where Hugh sat on the top step. Jack went to join the young man on the constabulary's side of the porch, leaning on the railing behind him.

"You gonna eat those?" Bert asked. Jack realized he was staring unseeing at the biscuit tin. He took one for himself and passed the tin across to the cabbies.

"When our Miss Fisher gets an idea in her head…" Bert said, almost sympathetically.

"Indeed. Not even an arrest can stop her," Jack agreed.

"We did try it. Once," Hugh said.

Bert snorted, lighting a gasper and slouching on the railing a bit more comfortably. He took a drag, studying Jack's tidy, lower-middle class neighborhood.

"Always figured you for more of a toff," he said, exhaling smoke as he spoke.

"Clearly, you don't know how low a copper's salary really is," Hugh said, his face falling. He'd be thinking about salaries quite a bit lately, with his young fiancé's future to secure.

Jack eyed the cabbies. They were part of Phryne's adopted family, just as Jack hoped to be. He had failed to win over his father on Phryne's behalf, failed to make her at home in his family, but Jack could perhaps make a better impression on her family.

"My parents have done better than well enough, but I made other choices," he explained briefly. Exchanges between Jack and his parents had been cut down to the barest minimum of social commitments after he'd fallen out with his father over his career.

"Hmph," Bert said. He stubbed out the last of his gasper on the bottom of the railing, and fished a new one out of his pocket, pausing with it halfway to his mouth. With a jerky movement, he offered it to Jack, extending it across the empty space between them gingerly. Jack didn't really smoke, but he recognized a peace offering when he saw one, so he took it. Cec offered one to Hugh, and the conversation shifted to more comfortable topics.

"We looked into that Richard Watson fella you was interested in," Cec said.

Bert kicked the crate Cec was sitting on and scowled at his mate. "Miss Fisher was the one interested."

"Come on, Bert. Tellin' one of them is as good as tellin' the other, these days."

Bert sniffed, but didn't disagree. "Seems like everyone knows Rich Watson and his temper, but no one knows who'd want to do something more permanent than throw him out on his arse."

"It doesn't make any sense," Jack said. "If the family couldn't have done it, and he didn't bring the trouble home with him, what happened?"

"Someone's lyin'" Bert said.

They had talked themselves in circles and the sun was well on its way to setting by the time the door opened again.

"Should we blindfold him?" Phryne asked his mother, as they joined the men on the porch. She was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Just so I can take two steps into the house?" Jack asked.

"Sometimes I think you actually enjoy being no fun," Phryne said, coming to stand behind him and putting her hands over his eyes carefully. His mother towed him inside by his sleeve.

Even with his eyes closed, Jack knew the room was different. It smelled of soap, furniture polish and growing things.

"Ta da!" Phryne exclaimed, pulling her hands away from his eyes with a flourish.

The biggest change was the lighting. The house faced south, and the front room had always felt shadowed. Now, multiple lamps lit it, throwing a warm glow on walls hung with tasteful paintings (nothing too modern, Jack noted, suppressing a smile). A rug covered most of the floor, and several large, elegantly masculine new chairs and a couch made a comfortable sitting area. The large fern Phryne had been carrying sat in the center of the table along the back wall.

"A fern from Fern?" Jack asked, and Phryne grinned.

"You always get my little jokes," Phryne said, as she wrapped her hand around his and pulled him further into the house.

Jack's dusty old bedroom was sparkling clean, and smelled of the freshly washed sheets now on the bed. They were soft, nearly as fine as the lavender sheets on Phryne's bed, but in a dove gray color. More house plants softened the walls, and a matched set of exotic maroon vases had appeared on the barren bedside tables. He shook his head and decided not to even wonder what they were worth. He was uncomfortable enough with all this generosity, but as it seemed to make Phryne more comfortable, Jack resigned himself to living with it.

Phryne continued to prattle on about this painting and that decorative element as they headed for his study, the only room in the house Jack had actually liked. For the first time, Jack worried about what Phryne might have done. He took a steadying breath and opened the door.

The study looked the same as ever. Except for a new, much more comfortable chair at the battered desk and considerably cleaner windows, the room was unchanged.

"Do you like it?" Phryne asked. Jack couldn't respond; his heart was in his throat again, doing its best to choke him.

"I thought about getting a second armchair, but it would throw off the balance of the room, and…" She fidgeted. "Everyone should have a place that's just theirs. Not that I don't want to be here with you, but…this room was the only one that felt like you, and I couldn't bear to really change it."

Jack scooped her into a hug; her arms went around his neck.

"Besides," Jack continued for her, "We've already proven the armchair is big enough for both of us."

* * *

Phryne pushed her empty plate away and sat back, completely satisfied. Ida Robinson, despite her claims to the contrary, could cook. Phryne gave her an appreciative nod and Ida grinned, before turning her attention back to the conversation around Jack's crowded kitchen table. Jack sat on one short side, with Bert on the other end. Hugh, Dottie, and Ida were crushed onto the bench along the wall, across from Phryne and Cec.

Bert and Hugh had fallen into a vehement discussion about footie with Cec, which had so far remained just this side of polite, but only because of the delicate presence of so many ladies. Dot rolled her eyes and shared a headshake with Ida over men and their sports, before standing to begin cleaning up. Jack had been quiet for the most part, but there was a new squareness to his shoulders as he sat at the head of the table, and the corner of his mouth had been tilted up all evening.

"I am afraid I must go," Ida said into a lull. "Henry will be wondering why he is eating alone."

Jack accompanied his mother to the door, and Phryne stood to push Dottie away from the sink.

"Go, the dishes are practically done, and you'll miss your picture," Phryne told her. Dottie smiled in gratitude, and left with Hugh to catch a late showing. Phryne was alone with the cabbies briefly, as Jack showed the two sweethearts out.

"He's not too bad," Bert announced.

"Not all oppressors of the people are created equal?" she teased, though it eased her heart to see they'd struck a peace accord.

It was Cec who answered, "Reckon he didn't get into it 'cause he wanted to throw his weight around."

Bert nodded with a contemplative frown, and the two men excused themselves. Phryne began to wash the remaining dishes with an intensity born of concentration. It had been a long day, and she had many things to ponder. Jack joined her at the sink, drying dishes. They worked in a companionable silence for a few minutes, but Phryne couldn't quite let it alone.

"I hope I haven't gotten you into trouble with your superiors," she said. Jack frowned, his shoulders tightening.

"No more than usual."

"And your father…"

"His reaction wasn't all that unusual either."

Phryne handed him a dripping plate, he took it without meeting her eyes, not volunteering anything else on the subject. Phryne drew a deep breath, and kept pushing.

"Your father seemed…" to want Phryne's head on a stake.

"He'll get over it. They all will, or I'll get used to it."

"I hate that. I don't want you to have to live with them constantly dripping poison in your ear."

"I don't see any other option. Do you?"

Phryne wracked her mind for a solution, a way to protect Jack from the scorn of the world without letting him, or any of herself, go.

"If you had higher position in the constabulary, they couldn't make your life miserable at their whim." It'd probably go a long way towards mollifying his angry father, too.

Jack's hands froze, his frustration instantly morphing into something darker.

"Am I not good enough for you?" he asked, deceptively quiet. Phryne wasn't fooled. She'd hit this nerve at the morgue, and she'd returned to it semi-consciously, worrying at it the same way one continually pressed on a sore tooth to confirm it needed pulling.

"Don't be ridiculous. I've said it outright: who you are matters far more to me than what you do."

They went back to washing and drying the dishes without speaking, but the silence was pregnant with unspoken emotion now. Phryne handed Jack the last dish to dry, and picked up the last glass.

"Do you want to go out?" Jack asked. It seemed he hadn't forgotten their aborted attempt to go dancing.

"Not really," she said, surprised by his question and her answer. Despite the tension between them, Jack's house still echoed with the laughter of their friends, their family, and Phryne wasn't eager to leave it. "I want to stay here."

"Why would you want to stay here? Even after your intervention, my house is not as comfortable as your mansion, with all your silks and your servants."

"Don't you dare, Jack Robinson," Phryne said, whirling to face him. The glass in her hand tumbled from her shaking fingers and shattered on the floor. "Don't you dare reduce me to a toff with toys. You know me better."

Jack winced, but he didn't look away. "I'm sorry. But the question stands." The vulnerability in his eyes stopped her angry words on her lips. She forced herself to calm down, to see beyond her own hurt to his. She hadn't caused it, but it was there all the same, pain like a living thing, lashing out at both of them with sharpened claws.

"I want to be here because you are here." Phryne spoke slowly, deliberately. "I am here for you."

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then the plate Jack was holding shattered on the floor as he dropped it and dragged Phryne against him. He crushed his lips to hers, tongue demanding entrance to her mouth. Phryne responded with just as much need, sinking one hand into his hair and scraping her nails across his shoulders.

"We need to talk about this, Jack," she said, breaking the kiss before she could entirely lose her mind. Jack nibbled her lower lip, his hands reaching around her to drag up her skirt, fingers finding bare skin.

"Alright, later," Phryne breathed. She scrabbled at the buttons of his shirt to press kisses to his throat, but some tiny part of her brain remained rational enough to realize he'd learned this particular tactic, seduction to avoid seriousness, from her. Then there was no room left for thoughts of frowning fathers or contentious colleagues, as her mind and body filled with aching love for her dour detective.

* * *

_Author's note: What is that on the horizon? I think...yes, I'm almost sure...it's smut! _

_The next chapter of entirely plot-free smut is available for your reading pleasure in the M-rated fic: Hope Springs Eternal Interlude II._


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note:** So sorry for the delay! I'm visiting family. This chapter doesn't get us far, but I'm working too slowly to sit on it. There's some smut between this chapter and the last, you can find it in _Hope Springs Eternal Interlude II_ (M rated); it has emotional value but no plot. You know how I'm embarrassed by smut? My little brother has my spare laptop, and it's still hooked up to my cloud drive. Every time I saved, he got a notification about the "explicit" chapter being updated. Headdesk. He's 20-something, but it's still mortifying.

**Recap:** Evil, abusive barrister Rich Watson got knocked on the noggin. He was fighting with his family, but his father claims he was watching the stairs all night, and they couldn't have gotten outside to kill Rich. Bert & Cec reported that his drinking mates didn't want him dead. Phryne showed up at Jack's house to redecorate, and then they had a bit of a kerfuffle. Jack distracted her, though.

**Chapter 9**

Phryne was sprawled on the bed beside him with a dreamy look on her face as she stared at the ceiling, and for a moment Jack thought they'd driven their doubts and demons away. And maybe, for a moment, they had. But as he tried to relax into sleep, Jack could feel them lingering out of sight, in the shadows just beyond the light. He hadn't been able to turn off the bedside lamp.

Phryne's brow puckered. She turned her face to him, sliding an arm beneath his waist and tugging. Jack went to her willingly, wrapping his arms around her silk-clad hips and pillowing his cheek on the bare shoulder above her camisole. Jack had only pulled on pyjama bottoms, and Phryne's fingers soon found the shrapnel scars on his back, caressing them one by one, as if she were counting them. They lay in silence, Jack marveling at the softness of her skin beneath his cheek, her deceptively petite frame, overflowing with strength and spirit, wrapped in his arms. _She's worth it_, he repeated his mantra to himself. The thought that had been right beneath the surface all along rose unbidden: _but am I?_

"I like out-of-control, kind-of-angry Jack," Phyrne purred.

"I don't," Jack said, without thinking. He held his breath as her hand stilled, but she didn't pounce on his two word confession.

"You spoke to Bert and Cec," she said.

Jack's eyebrows twitched at the sudden change of subjects, but he started breathing again. "They talked to Rich Watson's drinking mates; no one was angry enough to kill him."

"There's another theory shot to pieces. What happened to this oaf?"

"The family wasn't getting along." If the elder Watson hadn't provided them all with an alibi…

"Could someone have gotten outside without the old man seeing?" Phryne asked. "Or did he lie to protect someone?"

Jack shook his head into her shoulder. "He wouldn't protect whoever killed his favorite son."

"Rich doesn't seem to be anyone's favorite anything."

"He was financially successful, socially esteemed, in a respectable marriage, and had produced a passel of grandchildren. To his father, he was the model of success."

"Just to his father?"

Oh, she was sneaky. She'd gotten the conversation right back to where it had started earlier in the evening: careers.

"You aren't going to give this up, are you?" he asked. Phryne pushed on Jack's chest, rolling him onto his back so she could sit up.

"When have you known me to give up something worthwhile? And I've never found anything half so worthwhile as you." She swung a leg over him, straddling his waist, and crossed her arms.

"In case you didn't notice, I don't enjoy talking about it," Jack said.

"We could talk about how you just admitted to hating yourself, if you prefer."

Jack rolled his eyes. Phryne's flair for the dramatic was easily a match for his. "That's not what I said. I don't hate myself." It was much more complicated than that. "But I'm not proud of everything I've done."

"The war? No one is proud of everything they did to survive it." Phryne's eyes lost focus as she stared into the past, then sharpened again as they met his. "Talk to me Jack, you might just find I understand."

"I don't even understand, most days." Jack looked away from her sharp stare, clasping his hands across his chest and studying his knuckles.

Phryne sighed. "I'm sorry," Jack said, and he was. But Phryne had said it herself; there was no point in resurrecting those old ghosts.

"I'd settle for an explanation of your sensitivity to the word 'promotion'," she conceded. Jack pulled his knees up, putting his feet flat on the sheets, and Phryne leaned back against his raised thighs, waiting for him to find the words. He could only find one.

"Rosie," Jack said.

"Ah." Phryne held her hands out to Jack, and he took them, rubbing his thumbs across her knuckles.

"I was supposed to be more successful."

"By what metric?" Phryne demanded.

"Pick one." He fell short in so many ways, and Rosie had never hesitated to point them out.

"Number of exceedingly intelligent and beautiful women who love you."

Jack tisked. "That's a short list. Pick another."

"It's a matter of quality, Jack, not quantity," Phryne swished her hair saucily. "Let's see….the number of murderers you've incarcerated. If that's not success, I don't know what is."

"Well, it's not a number I can take to the bank. And that's all that matters to society."

"Damn society and all its opinions straight to hell," Phryne said, startling a snort out of Jack. "Your sharp mind, your dogged loyalty, and your impossibly good heart are all that matter to the people who love you."

Jack cleared his tight throat. "So you're not just using me for my police connections? Or my expert love-making?" He was trying to tease, but his voice was much more raw than he intended.

"I have used you for both," Phryne began, and Jack's stomach clenched. "But I'm fairly certain when two people use each other reciprocally, it's called a partnership. I'm not an expert, though. This is the first real partnership I've ever had."

The loneliness implied by that declaration spoke to Jack's hidden heart. He tugged on Phryne's hands, pulling her up to lie on his chest, and she tangled her legs in his. He didn't speak, but Jack's mind was anything but quiet. _Why me, Phryne Fisher?_

"You and I, Jack, we're very different people, with differences in opinion to match. But we're equals in every way that matters."

Jack smiled into Phryne's hair; she was responding to his unspoken questions again. And he almost believed her answers.


	10. Chapter 10

**Recap:** Evil, abusive barrister Rich Watson was found dead in a fountain, covered in dust and odd bits of leaves. It looked like he returned from a night of drinking and walked into a robbery, but his wife's missing wedding ring was suspicious. His drinking mates didn't want him dead, but his family apparently couldn't have killed him. Phryne and Jack have decided to investigate that claim.

**Chapter 10**

Phryne stood at the top of the Watsons' stairs and surveyed the hallway, hands on her hips. Through the doorway to her right, she could see the armchair where Edward Watson had been reading the night his son was killed. Further down the hall was the nursery, then an open sitting area with a door to the veranda, and three more doors leading to the family bedrooms. There was simply no way either Rich's brother or his wife could have reached these stairs without passing by the elder Watson.

"The Watson children must have been terribly boring adolescents," Phryne commented.

"How so?" Jack asked. He was leaning on the newel post beside her with his hands buried in his trouser pockets, a stance as familiar to Phryne as his face.

"It would next to impossible to sneak out for any midnight debauchery." Phryne waved a hand at the study and the bedrooms down the hallway.

Jack blinked, tilting his head in agreement. "I suspect an overabundance of adult supervision would only encourage _some_ defiant young ladies," he added.

"And I suppose even the thought of disobedience never occurs to _some_ young men."

Jack shrugged noncommittally, but a sparkle had appeared in his eyes.

"Don't tell me your upstanding reputation is a sham! What could possibly tempt the dutiful young Jack Robinson into breaking the rules?"

Without answering, Jack began to meander down the hallway, hands still in his pockets. Phryne grinned, happy to have found another Jack mystery to solve.

"Perhaps, you liked to steal away to the nearest bookseller for some extra study?" she asked, following him.

Jack ignored her, sweeping the fingertips of one hand across the top of the hallway table. Phryne copied him, and found her fingertips coated with yellow dust.

"The Watsons could do with a better housekeeper," Phryne said, pursing her lips, which were a done up in a shade of raspberry that perfectly complimented her floral blouse.

"It looks like the dust on Rich's jacket," Jack said.

"Then we have definitive proof that he was, at some point, in his own house."

Jack rolled his eyes at her. He reached across his body awkwardly with his clean hand, looking for the handkerchief in his trouser pocket, but Phryne beat him to it. She shoved her hand into his pocket, squeezing the hard muscle of his thigh.

"You wouldn't happen to have a handkerchief, would you Inspector?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes as she began to feel around in his pocket.

"Behave," he told her, looking at her over the rim of his invisible spectacles. A night of (mostly) sleep in Phryne's arms had lightened the circles under Jack's eyes and erased some of yesterday's tension from his face, easing Phryne's heart considerably in the process. She grinned, pulling out his handkerchief with a flourish and inadvertently spilling the loose change in his pocket on the floor. Her shrug was as unrepentant as his sigh was resigned.

"Perhaps young Jack had a sweetheart, and snuck out for moonlit walks along the foreshore?" Phryne asked, as they both knelt to pick up the scattered coins.

"I agree with your assessment of the housekeeper," he said, as if she hadn't spoken. "This floor is on its way to being ruined by carelessness." Jack pointed to a plate sized water ring, half on the hallway rug and half on the bare edge of wooden flooring nearest the wall.

"There are at least a dozen stains here," Phryne said, standing again and pacing the length of the rug to the end of the hallway.

"They must bring in the ferns on the veranda during the winter. The pots would leave rings like these," Jack said.

Phryne crouched beside the last water mark, running her fingers along the buckled wood. This stain was different from the others. In addition to the ring, a dried trail of water led to the wall, disappearing beneath the baseboard. She straightened and took a step back to study the elaborate frame molding on the wall.

"These old houses almost always had a servant's stairway," Phryne commented.

Jack rapped on the wall with his knuckles. It echoed hollowly.

"A secret passageway!" Phryne said. "Now, if only it proves to be haunted, we'll have a fine Gothic romance on our hands."

"I vehemently hope not," Jack said with a shudder.

After fifteen minutes of pushing, pulling, and wiggling pieces of molding, Jack finally happened on the right section, and the wall creaked open to reveal a constricted passageway. Phryne and Jack took a simultaneous step forward to enter it, and hopelessly wedged themselves in the narrow doorway.

"Lead the way," Phryne said when they'd pried themselves loose and stumbled back into the hall.

"No, no, I insist, after you," Jack said, bowing. Phryne curtseyed with a coquettish smile before ducking into the passageway. Jack crowded in behind her, and the door drifted shut. The muffled click of the latch sounded very loud in the close space.

"Dark in here," Jack whispered a heartbeat later.

"Don't worry Inspector, I'll protect you from the darkness," Phryne said just as quietly.

She could hear his eye roll. "Thanks, but I'm more concerned about gathering evidence. So unless your luminous personality can literally light up the room…"

"Where is your torch, Detective Inspector Robinson? Perhaps I need to search your pockets for you?"

"Maybe later. The maid took my torch when she took my overcoat."

"I'm sure it wasn't deliberate."

"And where's yours, Miss Fisher, Lady Detective?"

"The maid took it when she took my handbag."

"I can agree to never speak of this again, if you can."

"Definitely," Phryne agreed immediately. They began edging sideways through the dimly lit passage. Dust motes danced in the cracks of light that managed to penetrate the wall, and as Phryne's eyes adjusted, she could just make out the plaster coated slats only a few feet in front of her face. She took a particularly ambitious step and would have fallen when her foot met nothing but air, but Jack caught her elbow, anchoring her.

"I've found the stairs!" Phryne said.

"You're an unparalleled explorer," Jack said, pulling her back from the incline.

"I can hardly imagine Dot carrying a tea tray up through here."

"They must have walled the stairs up when they did the most recent addition to the house."

The descended carefully, feeling for each step beneath them. Phryne's legs were protesting by the time they reached what was presumably the ground floor, and a dead end. With the hand closest to the wall, she began to search for a latch or handle.

"This would be easier if we had light," Jack commented, toe tapping. "If the family is sneaking out this way, the latch would be well used."

"I thought we were never speaking of our poor planning again. And for the record, I blame you."

"Me? For your unpreparedness?"

"Oh yes. You had me quite flustered this morning. And last night. And the night before."

Phryne was sure Jack was blushing, though the darkness hid his expression. "Perhaps you've hit your head? It's not usually so easy to muddle your wits."

"Who said it was easy? In fact, I'm fairly certain it was _hard_." Phryne let her free hand drift back towards Jack's thigh. She suddenly ran her fingers lightly up the inner seam of his trousers, and Jack twitched, banging his head against a low beam in front of them.

"And now I've hit _my_ head," Jack said, as rubbed his forehead.

Phryne winced. "How bad is it? Here, let me see." Phryne curled her shoulders and managed to turn to face Jack. She forced herself between his body and the wall, her face so close to his that his breath ruffled her hair. Even at this distance, she could barely see his features, let alone any injuries.

"It's not bad," Jack said.

"Kiss it better?" Phryne asked, rising onto her tiptoes to kiss his lips. Jack only hesitated a moment before kissing her back.

"I'm fairly certain that's not how it works," Jack observed when they broke the kiss.

"Maybe not for head injuries, but it is more fun," Phryne replied, raising a hand to Jack's hip.

"Your way usually is. But Phryne…" He covered her hand with his, but didn't push hers away.

"You're right, Jack. We should be more discreet. Someone might see us." She shifted her feet, intending to press even closer to Jack, and stepped on something that grated loudly against the floor.

"That sounded like metal. Maybe a loose nail, or…" Jack said.

"Or it could be relevant to the case. Allow me, Inspector." Phryne slid down Jack's chest slowly, drawing a startled breath from him, and pressed her cheek to his thigh as she knelt between his legs. Her fingers quested through the dirt on the floor for the mysterious object, and bumped into something cool and round. She climbed her way back up Jack's body to her feet.

"It feels like a ring." Phryne said.

"Rich's wife reported her wedding ring stolen," Jack reminded her, his voice almost even. But his breathing was just a bit too quick, and standing pressed together as they were, Phryne could tell why. A smile spread across her face. She had never enjoyed having an effect on any man as much as she enjoyed getting a rise out of Jack Robinson.

"It could be her wedding ring," Phryne said, rolling the ring around in her hand.

"But it's impossible to tell. We need to get out of here."

"Immediately. And just when things were getting interesting."

"You're insatiable," Jack told her, voice tinged with admiration.

"And what are you?" Phryne asked, rubbing against him.

"Tortured." He replied, before finding her lips with his again.

Phryne swept up her arms to wrap them around Jack's neck and knocked her elbow on the low beam. Cringing away from it instinctively, she pushed them both out of balance. Jack staggered into the wall behind him and kept going straight through the plaster, taking Phryne with him as he fell backwards. They landed on the floor on the other side in a cloud of dust and a spray of plaster, still completely entangled.

Coughing, and rubbing her streaming eyes, Phryne pushed herself up.

"Ah. Here they are," Edward Watson said.

"Indeed," a familiar, harsh voice responded. With a growing sense of dread, Phryne blinked the room into focus.

Phryne was straddling a disarrayed, lipstick-smeared Jack, on the floor of the Watson's parlor, at the feet of Edward Watson and Jack's father.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: **Sorry for the delay, laptop and life fails conspired against us. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and PM'd to check up on me. You keep me writing, when all else fails.

**Recap: **Rich Watson fought with his family, went out drinking, and then was killed. He wasn't getting along with his disobedient little brother or his demanding wife. Though the family had alibis, Jack and Phryne found a secret passageway that could have allowed someone to sneak out. In it, they found Rich's wife's missing wedding ring. That was exciting, and in their...exuberance, they fell right through a wall into the parlor, to land at the feet of Jack's father and the elder Mr. Watson.

**Chapter 11**

_Not again_, Jack thought, as he looked up at his father from the floor. His father was upside down from Jack's perspective, but even so, Jack could clearly see him seething.

"Good morning Mr. Robinson." Phryne said brightly, apparently deciding the liberal application of charm couldn't hurt. "Mr. Watson, we haven't been introduced. I'm Phryne Fisher." Still sitting astride Jack's waist, Phryne offered her hand to Rich's father. The shadow of a leer crept onto his rat-like face as he shook it.

"I feel as if I know you already, Miss Fisher," Edward Watson said, still holding Phryne's hand. "Which is probably for the best, as you've just burst through one of my walls, riding my godson."

"Yes, well, these things do happen," Phryne said. She tugged on Mr. Watson's hand, using it to lever herself to her feet.

"Not to most people," Jack's father growled.

"Most people lead boring lives," Phryne replied carelessly. "I can pay for the damages."

Jack sat up and winced, though he wasn't sure if it was for the awkward situation or for his throbbing head. As he gathered himself to stand, Phryne's hand found his chin, tilting it so she could look down into his face.

"Take a moment," Phryne said. "A handkerchief might help with the dust in your eyes." She swept her hand across her lips in a deliberately casual gesture. Jack's ears began to burn as he realized his face must be covered in her makeup. He took her hint and scrubbed his mouth with his handkerchief.

"I must say, Henry," Mr. Watson commented to Jack's father, "I'm relieved to see your perfect son is just as fallible as my family."

"My what?" Jack's father asked, disbelieving.

"And yet," Phryne interjected as she helped Jack to his feet, "The Robinson family aren't murdering each other." _Yet_, Jack thought.

That wiped away Mr. Watson's gloating grin, but Phryne leaping to his defense only made Jack's father angrier. One could probably poach an egg in the steam coming out his ears.

"Mr. Watson, either Rich's brother or his wife could have crept down here without you seeing," Phryne said, dusting off her skirt. "We've heard that he was fighting with both."

"Fred and Ruby loved Rich," Mr. Watson said.

"Sometimes the people we love cause us the most pain," Phryne said, glancing at Jack.

Jack nearly lost the thread of the conversation, wondering what her look meant. "Er...we found a ring in the passage," he said. "Does it belong to your daughter-in-law?"

Phryne held it up and Mr. Watson's eyes widened in recognition. "The thief must have dropped it in his haste to escape," he said.

"He stole the silver from the kitchen," Phryne said. "Then he came all the way across the house, found a secret passageway, snuck upstairs and stole the ring. Then he dropped it, and after all that trouble, he left it behind?"

Mr. Watson's mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

"We need to talk to both Fred and Ruby down at the station, as soon as possible," Jack said in a tone that brooked no argument.

* * *

Jack and Phryne arrived at the station first, though Mr. Watson had sworn he would follow with Ruby and Fred after he picked up his son from the law firm. Jack wouldn't have believed him, but as his own father had taken the man firmly in hand, Jack had no doubt they'd arrive as soon as possible (and on their best behavior).

Phryne did not share his confidence. Jack was in the midst of an uncharacteristically incoherent explanation of his father's indomitable willpower and reliability, which Phryne was ignoring completely, when they walked into the station.

"He has this effect on people..." he trailed off, coming to an abrupt halt in the center of the room. Jack hadn't been to the station since his abduction, and his first thought was that he'd never realized how many men worked at City South. Sergeants, constables, other detectives, and even a few men from other stations were crowded into the stuffy room. Some were shuffling papers idly, pretending to work, but most were just standing around with expectant looks on their faces.

Jack looked over his shoulder, and then back at the mob, eyebrows raised. What on earth...?

"Welcome back," Will separated himself from the crowd, arms outstretched. Jack just managed to keep from backing up as the portly detective marched up to him and grabbed his hand, pumping it enthusiastically. Jack's face began to heat as the rest of the men burst into applause, crushing in around him to shake his hand and slap his back. He nodded politely, but even if he could have gotten a word in edgewise, he wouldn't have known what to say. In some ways, all this fuss was even more embarrassing than landing at his father's feet with Phryne's lipstick all over his face.

Phryne had drifted away towards his office. She smiled at Jack as he tried to shuffle through his colleagues to her.

"Enough, enough," Jack finally managed, knowing his stern tone was utterly contradicted by the abashed smile on his face.

"You heard the boss," Will boomed. "Break it up, back to work. It's like he was never even gone!"

There were chuckles and grins at that, and with only a few more handshakes, they dispersed to their duties. The room was soon as empty as usual. Jack glared at Will.

"You're welcome," he said. "My advice to you is to bask in their adoration, because two men with 'commissioner' in their titles are waiting in your office, and..." Will leaned a little closer to Jack, studying his neck, "...and you have what appears to be lipstick on your collar."

"Lipstick..." Phryne mused, stepping up to Jack and brushing at his collar ineffectively.

"A lovely shade," Will said.

"Thank you," Phryne replied absently. Jack scowled at Will and then narrowed his eyes at Phryne in a question.

"It may be nothing," she said.

"I trust you'll let us know, if it turns out to be something," Jack said.

"Of course, Inspector! And in the meantime, I think I'll wait for our suspects outside."

"I'll keep the lady company, if she doesn't mind," Will said.

Jack fought back a wave of resentment as they left, arm in arm. Neither Phryne nor Will would be welcome (or particularly helpful, Jack suspected) in whatever discussion the Commissioner and Deputy Commissioner had planned. Jack resolutely straightened his jacket. After all, he knew how to navigate the world alone. He just hadn't had to…for months, really. It was a pleasant thought.

Jack opened the door and strode into his office.

"Gentlemen," he greeted the Commissioner and Deputy Commissioner. The Commissioner was sitting in Phryne's usual chair, and the rotund Deputy Commissioner was sprawled in Jack's chair with his feet crossed on Jack's desk. Jack firmly shushed the Miss Fisher voice in his head, that was sputtering in very un-lady-like language at the man's easy arrogance.

"Robinson," the Deputy Commissioner said. "We wanted to welcome you back."

Jack would have felt more welcome bedding down in a nest of poisonous snakes. "Thank you," he said.

"We also wanted to express some concern about your current case," the Commissioner said. He stood, strolling over to Jack with his hands in his pockets. "Alfred Watson is handling a significant portion of the Sanderson case. We can't afford to draw it out any longer."

"If the man murdered his brother, he needs to be brought to justice," Jack said. "It's no less important than any other case."

"Wrong, Robinson," the Deputy Commissioner heaved himself to his feet and rolled across the office. "Like it or not, some cases are more important than others."

"We're not saying you should let a guilty man walk free," the Commissioner clarified, his eyes lingering on Jack's collar. "Just, get to the bottom of this case quickly, and more importantly, do it quietly."

Jack tried very hard not to think about Phryne's investigative style, which was only even remotely 'quiet' when it had already crossed the line into 'illegal'. The two men put on their hats and made as if to leave, but the Deputy Commissioner paused on the threshold with a sneer on his face.

"And Robinson, you've got something on..."

"Leave it," the Commissioner snapped at the shorter man, who shut his gaping mouth with a click. The Commissioner nodded to Jack, and then they were both gone. Jack wobbled over to the nearest chair and collapsed into it, rubbing his forehead.

_If it's not one thing, it's another,_ he thought.

* * *

Phryne greeted the Watsons as if they were guests at one of her intimate dinner parties, and not suspects in the murder of a loved one arriving for police interviews.

"Mrs. Watson, I'm so sorry for your loss," she told Rich's widow, shaking the woman's hand. She was overdressed for a police station, in a rich plum colored frock, with strappy heels and an elegant hat.

"You must be Miss Fisher," she said. Her voice was hoarse and her eyes were puffy from crying. Her brother-in-law, Fred, offered her an arm, though he was hardly in better shape. Both were pale and clearly exhausted.

Phryne escorted them to the interview room, meeting Jack there. He held the door open for Mrs. Watson, and then stepped between her and the other men in her family.

"Just Mrs. Watson, please," he said.

Fred scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'll wait with Kenneth by the car, then," he said.

His father pulled his thin lips into a frown. "Ruby might need support through this horrid ordeal."

"Too right," Jack's father agreed.

"Then you'll be more comfortable in the lobby," Jack pointed out.

"And still within shouting distance," Phryne added, with an innocent flutter of her eyelashes. The older men ignored her. Jack sighed and opened the door a little wider so Phryne could slip in, following her and shutting it behind them without ever meeting his father's accusatory stare. Phryne searched his face for some hint of what the Commissioner and the ball of flesh he called a Deputy Commissioner had wanted, and was rewarded with an eye roll and a headshake. _Too complicated, later._

Phryne sat down at the table as Jack held out the chair for Mrs. Watson. After she was situated, he went to lean on the wall behind Phryne, deep in the shadows of the room, his subtle invitation to Phryne to do the talking.

"Mrs. Watson, I can't imagine how you're feeling..." Phryne began, before she realized it was a lie. She'd never been married, but she could very well imagine what losing a partner felt like, having briefly misplaced hers, not too long ago. Phryne swallowed hard.

"It's like my life has ended," Mrs. Watson continued for her. Phryne began to fish around in her handbag for a handkerchief, sensing a storm of tears brewing on the horizon. It never ceased to amaze her how much a good woman could love a bad man.

"I'm sure Edward will provide for his grandchildren, but he's got no obligation to me," Mrs. Watson said. Phryne paused, looking back at the woman across the table from her in disbelief.

"And with it being a murder, and now I'm a suspect...no one will ever have me, after this. My life is over," she finished, choking on the last few words. Jack emerged from the shadows to hand her a handkerchief.

"Surely the death of a dismal life can't be mourned forever," Phryne said. _He hit you, he hit your children,_ she thought.

"A dismal life? I had everything," Mrs. Watson said. "Rich wasn't perfect, but I had all the connections and…and the clothes a woman could ever need." She wiped her face on a clean corner of Jack's much abused handkerchief, a smudge of her purple lipstick joining the raspberry-colored stains already there.

"And for love, you had someone else," Phryne said, her mind finally connecting the dots between dirty collars, lipstick colors, and earnest young men. Her sympathy for the woman evaporated.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mrs. Watson said, nervously folding and refolding the handkerchief.

"Then you aren't having an affair with your family's driver, Kenneth Johnson?" Phryne asked, knowing full well there was no innocent way for her purple lipstick to have ended up on Kenneth's collar.

"He was visiting his family the night of the murder," Mrs. Watson said, avoiding her question and defending the young man.

"Which leaves you no alibi and an excellent motive," Jack observed.

"Motive? That's ridiculous. Kenneth was just a diversion," Mrs. Watson said.

"Does he know that?" Phryne asked, thinking of how he'd tried to protect her from her violent husband.

"He should." She sniffed disdainfully. "Our kind doesn't mix with theirs, not in any meaningful way."

Phryne's lip curled up. "It's meaningful to Kenneth," she said. "And I'm not one of your kind."

Jack grunted in agreement. He pulled out the chair next to Phryne and sat down, folding his hands on the table.

"So you used the secret staircase to see Kenneth," Jack said. "And you dropped your wedding ring at some point. I suppose it would be bad taste to wear it when seeing a lover, even one you don't particularly care about."

Phryne continued his thought unbroken. "The real question is: did you also sneak out to kill Rich? Maybe not for Kenneth, but we know you and your husband fought constantly."

"Did our gossiping maid, Anna, tell you that?" Mrs. Watson asked. "That's where you should be looking for someone with motive to kill Rich."

"Anna?" Jack said in surprise. Phryne tried to picture the slight young woman heaving Rich's hulking corpse up into a fountain to make a statement, and failed.

"Not Anna," Mrs. Watson said. "Freddie. He wanted to marry the worthless girl!" Jack winced, but didn't seem surprised. Phryne gestured at Mrs. Watson to continue.

"He stirred up a fuss about it at dinner; quite traumatized his poor father, but my Rich would have none of it. The last thing I heard Freddie say to him was that he would convince Rich to see it from his perspective, one way or another."

Phryne exchanged a meaning-laden look with Jack. Fred Watson had wandered out of the station twenty minutes ago, completely unaccompanied. They stood in unison and rushed outside.

Kenneth was leaning on the hood of the Watson's expensive car, smoking and contemplating the sky. He was considerably less rumpled today, in a neat driver's uniform.

"Where's Alfred?" Phryne asked him.

"Don't rightly know, Miss. He came out, said he had some business to see to before the interview, and then he left."

"Damn it," Phryne said. Their best suspect had been right beneath their noses the whole time and they'd let him just walk away.

"You don't know the half of it," Jack said.


End file.
